Here it is, Beloved—Day 2 of C.S. Lewis week. 

I must admit…I identify with this poem far more than I would like.

Pilgrim’s Problem

By now I should be entering on the supreme stage

Of the whole walk, reserved for late afternoon.

The heat was to be over now; the anxious mountains,

The airless valleys and sun-baked rocks, behind me.

Now, or soon now, if all is well, come the majestic

Rivers of foamless charity that glide beneath

Forests of contemplation.  In the grassy clearings

Humility with liquid eyes and damp, cool nose

Should come, half tame, to eat bread from my hermit hand.

If storms arose, then in my tower of fortitude—

It ought to have been in sight by this—I would take refuge;

But I expected rather a pale mackerel sky,

Feather-like, perhaps shaking from a lower cloud

Light drops of silver temperance, and clover earth

Sending up mists of chastity, a country smell,

Till earnest stars blaze out in the established sky

Rigid with justice; the streams audible; my rest secure.

I can see nothing like all this.  Was the map wrong?

Maps can be wrong.  But the experienced walker knows

That the other explanation is more often true.